Another one down. My friend is in her late 30s, a few years older than me, and I'm ecstatic that she was able to get pregnant when she was so afraid she couldn't.
But it's another one down, the second of three who were trying to announce her pregnancy. The third has gone silent about babies in her social media, which is leading me to believe she may be close to an announcement herself.
The point is, I'm feeling awfully alone. Friends don't understand when I explain how I feel and start pushing me to consider having kids, which is missing the entire point. I wish I had a friend who just got it, one who understands what it's like to be dealing with this mixed bag of emotions. I'm 34. My time's running out to change my mind and it's not changing and there are consequences to that.
But the only place I can talk about the consequences, the mixed emotions, is this private blog. I've swapped several posts to "private" on my public blog after friends took horrible offense to everything I said. I tried reaching out again, to see if it would be different this time. It hasn't been.
I have a couple remaining childless/childfree friends, neither of whom are very good sounding boards for such emotional stuff. I can't talk to my mom, even though I want to. It's starting to get really lonely out here.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Sunday, January 08, 2012
Wishing for the Wish
I am in love. I'm in love with a baby girl who doesn't want to sleep when it's time to sleep and won't eat anything but applesauce. It's my friend's daughter, the formerly colicky one who's calmed down a bit, and I'm still in love with her.
She makes me wish I wanted kids. The mood swings are back.
I want to want the whole package, I do. But I still just don't. For the thousand reasons I've said before, I don't. But her face… my god her face. This baby has the best face, with wide bright eyes and her mother's infectious smile. God she makes me want to want one.
And then I see her parents, who haven't changed much as people except that they're tired all the time. They have a live-in nanny (Grandma) who takes care of her all day, cooks for them, cleans for them, and still their lives now revolve around this little child. Even though they have a full-time babysitter whenever they want to do what they want to do, they can't always do it.
She's expensive, for one. Far more expensive than they even imagined, and that's without having to pay for daycare. Mom's desire to go back to school for a career change has been exchanged for thankfulness that they have job stability. Her dreams come second now. And she's okay with that. I'm glad she's okay with that. And Baby's needy, going through week-long phases that drive Mom, Dad or Grandma until they're a raw, frayed nerve ready to snap at any moment.
But her face. I do love her face. I've said she's made of magic and it's true. Whether she's been crying all day or just threw up all over the place, her face makes it better.
But that face becomes a kid's face, which becomes a teenager's face and I tense up even thinking about trying to deal with a teenager, especially when I see the teens of friends beginning to run wild and rebellious in one way or another. Nevermind that we would never have the luxury of a nanny to help care for the infant like they do. The little bit of normal that my friends hold onto can be credited to Grandma living with them, which also creates an entirely different set of privacy-related problems.
It's not a life for me, but her face… her face makes me wish it was. But I get to make that face smile at me, make her coo and laugh, and then when she pukes I get to hand her off to Mom.
I still get to enjoy that face. Not in the same way I would if I was her mother, but I don't want to be her mother. Her face makes me wish I wanted one, but it also makes me feel so lucky that I have her in my life while I won't have one of my own.
She makes me wish I wanted kids. The mood swings are back.
I want to want the whole package, I do. But I still just don't. For the thousand reasons I've said before, I don't. But her face… my god her face. This baby has the best face, with wide bright eyes and her mother's infectious smile. God she makes me want to want one.
And then I see her parents, who haven't changed much as people except that they're tired all the time. They have a live-in nanny (Grandma) who takes care of her all day, cooks for them, cleans for them, and still their lives now revolve around this little child. Even though they have a full-time babysitter whenever they want to do what they want to do, they can't always do it.
She's expensive, for one. Far more expensive than they even imagined, and that's without having to pay for daycare. Mom's desire to go back to school for a career change has been exchanged for thankfulness that they have job stability. Her dreams come second now. And she's okay with that. I'm glad she's okay with that. And Baby's needy, going through week-long phases that drive Mom, Dad or Grandma until they're a raw, frayed nerve ready to snap at any moment.
But her face. I do love her face. I've said she's made of magic and it's true. Whether she's been crying all day or just threw up all over the place, her face makes it better.
But that face becomes a kid's face, which becomes a teenager's face and I tense up even thinking about trying to deal with a teenager, especially when I see the teens of friends beginning to run wild and rebellious in one way or another. Nevermind that we would never have the luxury of a nanny to help care for the infant like they do. The little bit of normal that my friends hold onto can be credited to Grandma living with them, which also creates an entirely different set of privacy-related problems.
It's not a life for me, but her face… her face makes me wish it was. But I get to make that face smile at me, make her coo and laugh, and then when she pukes I get to hand her off to Mom.
I still get to enjoy that face. Not in the same way I would if I was her mother, but I don't want to be her mother. Her face makes me wish I wanted one, but it also makes me feel so lucky that I have her in my life while I won't have one of my own.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
My Time, Our Time
The shine has worn off of the jealousy I felt about my friend's new baby when she first came into the world. At first I viewed her experience through the rose-colored glasses that accompany new motherhood, but seeing the reality of her new world has convinced me more than ever that I don't want what she has. But it's not just her.
There's the friends with toddlers who haven't gone to the conventions that my husband and I love so much in the years since their children were born. There's the couple who has spent the four years since their son was born doing things only separately so the other could care for him since they don't have family nearby. Most of the burden has fallen on the mother. "When he was born, my life changed completely; R's life has hardly changed at all." Granted, this is a problem in their marriage, that they're not working together, but it's just so sad to me.
"You'll know if it's what you want. If you don't know, don't do it," she said to me.
But my dear friend with her newborn is providing the biggest confirmation that I don't want to do that job. Mom was a colicky baby herself, and her daughter is… well, while she's beautiful in many ways she's also a nightmare. She never stops crying. Never. If she is awake, she is not just crying, she's screaming bloody murder, wailing inconsolably.
The day I spent with Mom and baby was impossibly stressful. After awhile the wailing became white noise, sort of, but every visit since has been increasingly difficult, especially since Mom and Dad are becoming increasingly frayed. They love their daughter but being unable to console her is causing incredible tension between them. I'm encouraged that they're able to admit that this is really, really hard and think things would be even harder for them if they felt the pressure to say everything's perfect at all times, but it's hard to see them struggling so much.
She said to me "the baby eats ALL OF MY TIME" and it became so real. She has no time to be herself. When baby was first born she had time for her hobbies, but that was before she went back to work. Baking, cooking, writing, gaming, all of it's falling by the wayside so she can devote her time to her daughter.
I've talked about how important my time is to me, and how important time with my husband is, but once again I see this reinforced by watching my friends in their parenting adventures. I want to go to concerts, travel, or go to conventions, but I want to do it with my husband. Raising a child wouldn't just sacrifice my time. Sacrificing my time is sacrificing my life and who I am. It just doesn't sound worth it to me.
There's the friends with toddlers who haven't gone to the conventions that my husband and I love so much in the years since their children were born. There's the couple who has spent the four years since their son was born doing things only separately so the other could care for him since they don't have family nearby. Most of the burden has fallen on the mother. "When he was born, my life changed completely; R's life has hardly changed at all." Granted, this is a problem in their marriage, that they're not working together, but it's just so sad to me.
"You'll know if it's what you want. If you don't know, don't do it," she said to me.
But my dear friend with her newborn is providing the biggest confirmation that I don't want to do that job. Mom was a colicky baby herself, and her daughter is… well, while she's beautiful in many ways she's also a nightmare. She never stops crying. Never. If she is awake, she is not just crying, she's screaming bloody murder, wailing inconsolably.
The day I spent with Mom and baby was impossibly stressful. After awhile the wailing became white noise, sort of, but every visit since has been increasingly difficult, especially since Mom and Dad are becoming increasingly frayed. They love their daughter but being unable to console her is causing incredible tension between them. I'm encouraged that they're able to admit that this is really, really hard and think things would be even harder for them if they felt the pressure to say everything's perfect at all times, but it's hard to see them struggling so much.
She said to me "the baby eats ALL OF MY TIME" and it became so real. She has no time to be herself. When baby was first born she had time for her hobbies, but that was before she went back to work. Baking, cooking, writing, gaming, all of it's falling by the wayside so she can devote her time to her daughter.
I've talked about how important my time is to me, and how important time with my husband is, but once again I see this reinforced by watching my friends in their parenting adventures. I want to go to concerts, travel, or go to conventions, but I want to do it with my husband. Raising a child wouldn't just sacrifice my time. Sacrificing my time is sacrificing my life and who I am. It just doesn't sound worth it to me.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Names
Apparently this is a thing among (many?) women who dream all their lives of being mothers. They have a list of names all picked out for their future children. I know if my childhood best friend ends up with a fourth (FOURTH!) girl, the plan is to name her after me. Friends have names picked out long before they even get pregnant and, even though it often changes, they daydream about the named child all the time.
Yeah, I don't have names. Like anybody, I say things like "that's a nice name." I was listening to Within Temptation and the song "Jillian" came on and I thought that would be a nice name, but it's a fleeting thought and mostly on my mind because of this discussion I had with a friend about baby names.
I've never really had that name thing happening. I wouldn't have the slightest clue about what I'd name a child and the thought of it freaks me out because it's so much pressure. I love naming my characters for the games we play, or for stories I write, but I've never had that list of names picked out. But that's fun because it doesn't matter.
Naming a child is a gargantuan responsibility, and one I've seen friends and family members make both excellent and questionable choices, in my opinion. And that's just it. Add that to the long list of items that you'll be judged for as a parent forever. And we know how well I deal with being judged. (hint: not well)
It was an interesting tidbit that I grabbed from a conversation with a new friend, the parent of a four-year-old, who also said, "Don't do it. If you're on the fence at all, don't do it. It will change your life completely and you will know if it's what you want. If you're not sure, then you don't want to be a parent." Words to live by, I think.
Yeah, I don't have names. Like anybody, I say things like "that's a nice name." I was listening to Within Temptation and the song "Jillian" came on and I thought that would be a nice name, but it's a fleeting thought and mostly on my mind because of this discussion I had with a friend about baby names.
I've never really had that name thing happening. I wouldn't have the slightest clue about what I'd name a child and the thought of it freaks me out because it's so much pressure. I love naming my characters for the games we play, or for stories I write, but I've never had that list of names picked out. But that's fun because it doesn't matter.
Naming a child is a gargantuan responsibility, and one I've seen friends and family members make both excellent and questionable choices, in my opinion. And that's just it. Add that to the long list of items that you'll be judged for as a parent forever. And we know how well I deal with being judged. (hint: not well)
It was an interesting tidbit that I grabbed from a conversation with a new friend, the parent of a four-year-old, who also said, "Don't do it. If you're on the fence at all, don't do it. It will change your life completely and you will know if it's what you want. If you're not sure, then you don't want to be a parent." Words to live by, I think.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Much Ado About Nothing
Since I crossed back into feeling better about my choice, I've been worried that meeting Newbaby would drop me right back into the midst of the rabies. Thankfully, when I visited my friends and their daughter this weekend, it couldn't have been better.
I think this was the first baby I've ever held without anyone uttering the words "don't you want one, even just a little?" and the first time the mother hasn't been convinced I was going to accidentally break the child. This comfort and ease made the visit something awesome. We laughed, we all sat and watched movies and chilled and took turns holding her, handing her back to Mom or Dad when she fussed.
They handled Newbaby with ease and grace, even while admitting that in her week in this world she'd already managed to rob them of sleep and frustrate the hell out of them occasionally. And I got to see the immense love they felt for her and how natural and normal it all seemed.
And, I am happy to report, my uterus didn't twinge once.
Through it all, though I loved holding her and cuddling her, I knew I definitely did not want their life. Just the slightest glimpse showed me how 24/7 this job is. They're overjoyed by it all, but all I saw was what I would lose.
I've been told that I'm too focused on the negative side of parenting, but that's the fundamental difference between us and those who want kids. For me, the negatives are overwhelming and always have been. Parenting's a tough job. So's being a doctor or a physicist. And, again, I'll leave it to those who want to do it and I'll watch from afar, grabbing opportunities to babysit on occasion, or make the busy family dinner (as I did this weekend) to help out the people I love, and my life will be far from empty.
I think this was the first baby I've ever held without anyone uttering the words "don't you want one, even just a little?" and the first time the mother hasn't been convinced I was going to accidentally break the child. This comfort and ease made the visit something awesome. We laughed, we all sat and watched movies and chilled and took turns holding her, handing her back to Mom or Dad when she fussed.
They handled Newbaby with ease and grace, even while admitting that in her week in this world she'd already managed to rob them of sleep and frustrate the hell out of them occasionally. And I got to see the immense love they felt for her and how natural and normal it all seemed.
And, I am happy to report, my uterus didn't twinge once.
Through it all, though I loved holding her and cuddling her, I knew I definitely did not want their life. Just the slightest glimpse showed me how 24/7 this job is. They're overjoyed by it all, but all I saw was what I would lose.
I've been told that I'm too focused on the negative side of parenting, but that's the fundamental difference between us and those who want kids. For me, the negatives are overwhelming and always have been. Parenting's a tough job. So's being a doctor or a physicist. And, again, I'll leave it to those who want to do it and I'll watch from afar, grabbing opportunities to babysit on occasion, or make the busy family dinner (as I did this weekend) to help out the people I love, and my life will be far from empty.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Birth Control Party
Spending the evening at a friend's party that was not closed to kids is the best birth control ever. In one night there was a baby whose parents had to leave early because of his fussing, a curious but well-behaved one-year-old who couldn't stop touching EVERYTHING and opening every drawer, making a huge mess and nearly breaking many things, and a hyperactive three-year-old who acted like she'd done a few lines of cocaine before coming into the room with us. My head still hurts from said 3-year-old's screaming.
PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEEE!!!
My friends all thought this was adorable. "Look how energetic and friendly she is! She isn't afraid of strangers at all!!" I spent the entire time anxious, nervous, and wanting to leave, and now I have a headache.
This is why we do not invite the kids of friends to evening parties. A barbecue, sure. But not an evening party with drinking and booze and grown-ups chatting about things that may not be appropriate. (Don't get mad at us, Mom. We're here to hang out. Don't want her to hear us? Keep her out by your clique of friends)
Actually coming out and saying out loud to my husband what I was feeling and confronting my fear that he'd take my statements and turn it into "let's have a baby" seemingly evaporated every bit of anxiety and babyrabies I was having. My body seems to have settled and is no longer throwing the pangs in my belly at me, and because of that my mind is clear.
Between that and today's kid experience, I'm feeling like myself again. It's a damn good place to be, and it was beautiful to come home to our kidless home and just relax in the peaceful quiet.
PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEEE!!!
My friends all thought this was adorable. "Look how energetic and friendly she is! She isn't afraid of strangers at all!!" I spent the entire time anxious, nervous, and wanting to leave, and now I have a headache.
This is why we do not invite the kids of friends to evening parties. A barbecue, sure. But not an evening party with drinking and booze and grown-ups chatting about things that may not be appropriate. (Don't get mad at us, Mom. We're here to hang out. Don't want her to hear us? Keep her out by your clique of friends)
Actually coming out and saying out loud to my husband what I was feeling and confronting my fear that he'd take my statements and turn it into "let's have a baby" seemingly evaporated every bit of anxiety and babyrabies I was having. My body seems to have settled and is no longer throwing the pangs in my belly at me, and because of that my mind is clear.
Between that and today's kid experience, I'm feeling like myself again. It's a damn good place to be, and it was beautiful to come home to our kidless home and just relax in the peaceful quiet.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Talking it Over
I love my husband, and one of the reasons is that I can talk to him when I need to (even if sometimes I don't realize it). And tonight, boy did I need to. Tonight I had the most acute case of the rabies that I've ever experienced. It was so bad that I was really questioning myself, asking myself what my motivations were for not wanting children, whether it was something I really wanted or something I was telling myself I wanted. I was terrified to talk to my husband about these feelings because deep down I feared his response would be "well, maybe we should think about trying." So I clammed up.
But tonight, with talk of the new baby everywhere, the pictures, the stories, knowing that for the next forever the baby is going to be the center of my friend's world, it was all too much. I cried a lot tonight. I was furious at my body, for tying my stomach in knots and hurting my heart when I looked at the baby and tried to reconcile never having that. I was furious that my arguments were getting batted back in a horrible internal dialogue that questioned everything I believe. But my husband, who I had to talk into childfreedom when we got engaged nearly 7 years ago, took my hand and squeezed it, looking at me very seriously.
"If I believed this is what you wanted, I'd say we'll adapt, but this isn't what you want. This isn't you talking. I don't know if it's hormones or what, but this isn't you. So right now, even if you do want kids in this moment, I'm telling you this: I don't."
And he was right. So we talked. We talked about the good stuff we'll be missing out on. We acknowledged that it sucks that we can't have that without the long list of things we don't want. As we started talking the list felt good, and I started snapping out of it. And then it felt great. And then it felt fucking comical.
Seriously, everything I looked at in our amazing house reminded me of why I love my life, and all I'd have to sacrifice to make raising a child possible. My workaholic's workload. The laundry that's piling up and the litterbox that is overdue for a cleaning. The fact that we got them gravity feeders and a water fountain so we don't have to bother with feeding and watering the cats every day. Our pretty things. Our fragile pretty things. My gourmet kitchen. All of it. I don't want kids. I want to feel the joy of holding my child in my arms, but you want me to hold it for the next couple years? You want me to have this child as a constant tag-along to wherever I go, listening to kids' music instead of blaring industrial on a summer's day, and to another birthday party, or a kid-friendly event that will fill the room with dozens of children? Have you met me? How could you possibly think I'd want that life?
There are women who dream of this. There are women who want to be the nurturers. What I'm wanting right now is a moment, and it's a moment I realized, after talking with my husband, I can live without, even if it's going to be hard while I watch newbaby rack up the milestones.
It feels liberating, really, and I feel like me again. But this is exactly why we childfree DO talk about it so much. Because sometimes we are at odds with bodies and hormones and peer pressure that messes with our heads so much we get lost like I got lost. And sometimes we need someone to say "you don't sound like you. What's wrong? Let's talk this over." It's really invaluable.
But tonight, with talk of the new baby everywhere, the pictures, the stories, knowing that for the next forever the baby is going to be the center of my friend's world, it was all too much. I cried a lot tonight. I was furious at my body, for tying my stomach in knots and hurting my heart when I looked at the baby and tried to reconcile never having that. I was furious that my arguments were getting batted back in a horrible internal dialogue that questioned everything I believe. But my husband, who I had to talk into childfreedom when we got engaged nearly 7 years ago, took my hand and squeezed it, looking at me very seriously.
"If I believed this is what you wanted, I'd say we'll adapt, but this isn't what you want. This isn't you talking. I don't know if it's hormones or what, but this isn't you. So right now, even if you do want kids in this moment, I'm telling you this: I don't."
And he was right. So we talked. We talked about the good stuff we'll be missing out on. We acknowledged that it sucks that we can't have that without the long list of things we don't want. As we started talking the list felt good, and I started snapping out of it. And then it felt great. And then it felt fucking comical.
Seriously, everything I looked at in our amazing house reminded me of why I love my life, and all I'd have to sacrifice to make raising a child possible. My workaholic's workload. The laundry that's piling up and the litterbox that is overdue for a cleaning. The fact that we got them gravity feeders and a water fountain so we don't have to bother with feeding and watering the cats every day. Our pretty things. Our fragile pretty things. My gourmet kitchen. All of it. I don't want kids. I want to feel the joy of holding my child in my arms, but you want me to hold it for the next couple years? You want me to have this child as a constant tag-along to wherever I go, listening to kids' music instead of blaring industrial on a summer's day, and to another birthday party, or a kid-friendly event that will fill the room with dozens of children? Have you met me? How could you possibly think I'd want that life?
There are women who dream of this. There are women who want to be the nurturers. What I'm wanting right now is a moment, and it's a moment I realized, after talking with my husband, I can live without, even if it's going to be hard while I watch newbaby rack up the milestones.
It feels liberating, really, and I feel like me again. But this is exactly why we childfree DO talk about it so much. Because sometimes we are at odds with bodies and hormones and peer pressure that messes with our heads so much we get lost like I got lost. And sometimes we need someone to say "you don't sound like you. What's wrong? Let's talk this over." It's really invaluable.
The Magic of Babies
This is not actually a cynical post. I just laid eyes on a photo of my dearest friend's freshly baked daughter and I'm sort of overwhelmed by the magic of it all. I'm always reminded of the Onion article, "Miracle of Birth Occurs for 83 Billionth Time", but with this couple, this baby, it feels a little more special.
Maybe it's because her mother didn't treat me like a freak when I was interested in hearing about her experience being pregnant with her first child. Perhaps it's because nothing changed when she got pregnant and even though things will necessarily change in some ways now that the little one is here and healthy and beautiful I know she values my friendship and respects my choices. Whatever the case, I already adore this baby. I watched her mom struggle to get pregnant, saw her joy when she finally did and waited on pins and needles for 9 months praying she was healthy, and I feel connected to her.
I just can't get over that this little piece of both of them was in my friend's belly when we were at their house over the holiday weekend fully cooked and ready to be born. For the first time I really feel like I'm allowed to find this exceptionally cool without anybody getting all up in my face about my own choices. I just want to love this little girl and now I can.
She may not be a miracle in the strictest sense, but this baby girl is really special and I feel blessed to have her and her family in my life. They're the family I choose, and I'm so unbelievably happy for them.
Maybe it's because her mother didn't treat me like a freak when I was interested in hearing about her experience being pregnant with her first child. Perhaps it's because nothing changed when she got pregnant and even though things will necessarily change in some ways now that the little one is here and healthy and beautiful I know she values my friendship and respects my choices. Whatever the case, I already adore this baby. I watched her mom struggle to get pregnant, saw her joy when she finally did and waited on pins and needles for 9 months praying she was healthy, and I feel connected to her.
I just can't get over that this little piece of both of them was in my friend's belly when we were at their house over the holiday weekend fully cooked and ready to be born. For the first time I really feel like I'm allowed to find this exceptionally cool without anybody getting all up in my face about my own choices. I just want to love this little girl and now I can.
She may not be a miracle in the strictest sense, but this baby girl is really special and I feel blessed to have her and her family in my life. They're the family I choose, and I'm so unbelievably happy for them.
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